


Rock-a-Bye Baby

by Catherine_Medici



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Give her baby back you asshats, Kidnapping, Lizzington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Medici/pseuds/Catherine_Medici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz thinks she is prepared to give her baby up for closed adoption. Until she sees that sweet little face and holds her baby in her arms. Then she knows she could never give her child up. But someone is about to take that decision away from her...will it be for good? A Lizzington fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by FilmsAreFriends. Who is all mine. You can't have her :P

* * *

 

 

“ _Push_ Liz,”

“I AM pushing!”

Her hair clung damply to her face, sweat dripping and tickling her forehead. She brushed a droplet off of her upper lip, furiously irritated and in agony.

“Ahhh, no, _fuck_.”

The contractions were not messing around.

Her nurse was so damn calm, trying to soothe her in that annoying monotone. As if a hushed voice would lessen the wrenching pain occurring right now in her abdomen.

“Oh _god_ , help me,” she moaned, arching and writhing on the hospital bed as the nurse gripped her shoulder.

“Shhh, you're almost there Liz, just one more push, come on.”

“Ahh ahh,” she panted. “I want an epidural! Give me an epidural!”

The doctor shook his head. His face peering at her from between her legs. She could barely see what he looked like, behind his cap and face mask. “It's far too late for that. One more time now, _push_!”

What was that noise? That cry? Weird that she hadn’t thought about what her baby might sound like. She wasn't prepared. She'd had so many months to compose herself mentally. She'd decided to let her baby go, to sign on the dotted line for a closed adoption. It had been the only way out. There wasn't a family on the planet that would want her involved in their child’s life for the foreseeable future. At least not without Reddington's assistance.

This was her baby. Her decision. He’d offered to select a carer, someone who could tend to and love her little girl til she could come for her. But she'd thought keeping Reddington at arms length was the right thing to do for her child. Even if it meant a closed adoption.

“Do you want to see her?”

“Yes,” she croaked before she could stop herself.

Oh god. She was slimy, drenched in fluid, a mottled pink color. Her _hair,_ it was beautiful. She had a thick thatch of dark brown hair, the exact same color as her own.

Her baby.

She lay across her chest, her little mouth searching for milk, opening wide and closing again like a guppy fish. Her hands were so _tiny_. How could she be so small and so perfect? She smiled down at the little bundle of warmth. It was amazing how soft her skin was. She ran a hand along her daughter’s back, feeling the silkiness of her skin. She took in a deep breath, breathing in the smell of her beautiful baby girl. She smelt so sweet.

“Do you want to feed her one time? It's best for the baby to suck at least once. The colostrum, you know?”

She nodded wordlessly, lifting her tiny head gently to her breast. Her baby’s perfectly formed lips eagerly sought out her swollen nipple.

Her stomach flip flopped painfully as her child’s gummy mouth closed around her. She allowed a tiny hand to fist around her pinky finger as the baby sucked.

* * *

 

“Lizzie.”

She was on her side, resting after she'd expelled the placenta and been led gently to the shower to clean off the gore of her ordeal. They'd taken her baby away to be washed and weighed. The paperwork was yet to be signed. The adoptive parents would arrive within the hour.

“Reddington,” she whispered, turning over to look at him. He had his hat in his hand, a look of anxious understanding on his face.

“I promise, I won't stay long. I just need to know...that you're okay.”

Hot tears spilled suddenly from her eyes. “I can't,” she keened, “I _can't_ give my baby up. I _won't_.”

Instantly at her side, he dropped his hat onto the nearby chair and leaned over her hospital bed, his arms around her. She gratefully accepted his hug, needing his reassurance. Was she doing the right thing? She couldn't bear to let her baby go. She was the sun and the moon and the stars and every song that had ever been sung.

“I'm going to call her Melody,” she said, her tears wetting the front of his vest.

“I told you, it could be done,” he said confidently. “I'll hire a team of round the clock bodyguards, an unimpeachable nanny and-”

“Stop.”

“Lizzie-”

 _“No,_ this is my baby, my responsibility. You can't keep making these kinds of decisions for me. I can protect her.”

“You expect to be able to hire the team you'll need on a government salary?”

She eyed him. “I'm a consultant. Do you really believe that I didn't negotiate a significant pay increase?”

For the first time in a long time, she'd left him visibly lost for words. It was a good feeling. Maybe it was the glow of knowing she had just brought a brand new life into the world and she was going to keep her baby; but whatever it was, the feeling was magic. She had never felt such a sense of well being.

“Do you want to see her?”

His look of uncertainty, of hope was adorable. He nodded and she took his hand, steadying herself as she climbed from the bed, her hospital gown hanging off of her in folds. She gestured towards the door. “She's in the nursery. Let's go and see.”

They made it to the door and were met by Dembe.

“Elizabeth,” he said warmly. “You look well.”

“Thanks Dembe,” she smiled at her friend. “We’re just going to go and see Melody. Want to come and hold her?”

The look on his face sent fear skittering through her. Why had he grimaced like that?

“I think they've already come to take her away,” he said gently. So gently that it didn't sink in straight away.

“What do you mean?” Reddington broke in sharply.

“I came past the nursery. Her crib is empty. Have the adoptive couple not come to get her?”

“No,” she said, making for the hallway in giant strides despite the post labour soreness. She barely felt a thing other than dread.

Bursting into the nursery, she startled a couple bent over their own baby as she made a beeline for the crib with her own name on it. She looked into the clear plastic crib. Empty. The soft pink blanket lay open where her baby had lain safely not long before. The blanket was still warm.

“Where's my baby?” She heard her own voice, the sharp terror, the edge of hysteria and there was just no staying calm. “Where is she?”

Nausea hit her, a hard ball of vomitous fear unfurling in the pit of her stomach. She ran back into the hall, back into the room, her eyes blurring in panic. And screamed.

* * *

 

She raged.

“What did you do? _What did you do?”_

His eyes were wide and haggard. “Lizzie, I promise you, I've done _nothing_.”

Nothing. She could see it. Sincerity radiated from every pore, fear shone in his eyes. He wasn't responsible for this.

Not directly anyway. Whoever had taken her baby had done so because of Raymond Reddington though. She couldn't forget that. And the _fear_ in his eyes chilled her.

She closed her eyes and opened them again, trying to close her ears to the commotion going on around her. Every doctor and nurse in the room was yelling, the administrator from the front desk was remonstrating with the head of obstetrics, supposedly the best gynecologist and obstetrician in the state. He looked panicked, everyone did.

“ _Enough_!” Reddington’s voice, cutting through the cacophony, hosing down her fear just a little. He at least would do everything in his power to get her baby back.

“Stand up against the wall,” he said, his voice stony and cold. “In a straight line, all of you. No one leaves this room. You make a move toward the door and I will shoot you, am I understood?”

Confused voices, outraged protest. Cut short again by the businesslike way Reddington and Dembe cocked their guns, waving them all to the far wall. As if in a dream she too followed them, not yet understanding that she was not among those he intended to question.

“Lizzie, sit, you need to sit,” he said, his voice transformed instantly into tenderness.

He took her elbow, gently but firmly guiding her to the same bed she'd been lying flat on only hours earlier, delivering her baby.

She watched numbly as he put his gun to the temple of the head obstetrician. He was covered by Dembe, who stood back from the line of hospital employees, his impassive face giving nothing away, his gun cocked and aimed.

“Who took the child from the room,” asked Reddington in a clipped voice.

“I-I don't know-I'm not su-sure,” the sandy haired doctor stammered.

“Tell me who in this room would know.”

A nurse in scrubs stepped forward slowly, her hands raised placatingly. “I took the baby and washed and weighed her. She was put down into her crib. The time will be on her chart.”

The grim lines around Reddington's face didn't fade one jot. He waved his gun toward the nurse. “Your name?”

“Tamara,” she said, keeping her hands raised fearfully.

“ _Full_ name.”

“Tamara Brocklehurst...sir.”

“You have any children, Tamara Brocklehurst?”

The woman swallowed nervously, her eyes beginning to dart back and forth between her colleagues and the man waving a gun in her face. None of them looked at her, their faces all averted.

 _Cowards_ , thought Liz bitterly. They were going to let a strange man terrorise a nurse. The obstetrician should have said something in her defense. This was one of _his_ nurses, in _his_ employ.

“I have a son, he's five,” offered the nurse in a strangled voice.

“Then you have an imagination. One that you probably didn't know you had til your son was born, am I correct?”

She nodded, eyes wide.

He moved with the grace of a panther to Tamara’s side. “Let's assume that same imagination, the one that has kept you up of a night, that compassion that surfaced the minute you saw your new born son’s face, that driving need to protect all the little children of the world - let's assume that is working in overdrive right now. You're desperate to help this woman retrieve her baby, yes?”

Silent tears were running down the woman's face now. She nodded.

Pursing his lips, he circled her like a shark. “Alright then. And so you're going to think very hard for me, aren't you Tamara. May I call you Tamara? Let's think back. Who had access to the nursery?”

The administrator raised her hand, trembling. “I can get a list of everyone who signed in today.”

He waved his gun, obscenely calm. She wondered distractedly if he really was as calm and controlled as he appeared. Or was he just as frightened as she was?

“You'll do that. Time is critical. I'll need that list and your video footage. Everyone in this room will stay here until it's done.” He turned swiftly to Dembe. “See that she obtains the list and the footage. We’ll wait.”

They did wait. Hours later and the list had been combed through, the footage examined. Reddington had called Baz and a team in. He'd called Cooper somewhere along the way, she assumed because he was there, along with Ressler and Samar. They hovered, they all clearly wondered if she were about to do something stupid, as though she were about to break.

She wasn't though. She hadn't broken yet. After everything that had happened, this was the worst. They couldn't do anything more to her. She would survive this. If her baby was alive she'd get her back. If she wasn't...she would find out who was responsible and make sure they suffered for a very long and intense period of time.

For now she was blessedly numb.

“Lizzie,” his voice washed over her, tired and bleached of energy, but still achingly safe and familiar. “Where is Tom?”

Her head lifted to look him in the eye. She hadn't thought of that. Why hadn't she thought of that?

She opened her mouth, it felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. She had to be careful that she wasn't going into shock. Her wits would be needed and probably soon. “He left. He sold his boat and left with Gina.” She shook her head. “I know what you're thinking but I didn't have to force him to go. When he left...Gina was already pregnant. He told me that he'd leave us in peace. He wanted a family, a simple life and as strange as it may seem, Gina was a better chance of that than I was. Or am.”

“He was unfaithful,” Reddington said grimly.

She huffed a laugh. “It was a relief. At least I didn't have to feel bad telling him to go. I really don't care...I just want my baby back.”

“All the same, it's worth tracking him down and questioning him. Do you have his last cell number? Location?”

She nodded wearily. “Go get a pen, I'll write it all down.”

She watched him leave the room in search of pen and paper, wretched in mind and body, watched him sadly as he passed a delivery man in the doorway. A man in overalls carrying a large bouquet of pink roses.

“Delivery for Elizabeth Keen? From,” he looked down at the card, “the Mobile Psych Unit?”

Oh. Her old team. Well they probably hadn't heard she'd planned to adopt her baby out. She listlessly accepted the bouquet, placing it on the stand next to her hospital bed.

People were still streaming in and out. It was only through Cooper’s quick work that the cops hadn't been called. He'd investigate it personally, he promised.

Well so would she.

She picked the thick piece of cream note card sticking out from the nest of brightly colored roses, unfolding it to read the message.

She sat there for the longest time, reading and rereading it. Eventually it fell into her lap from her trembling fingers.

 

_If you want to see your kid alive again, do not tell Reddington._

_Call this number - 555 123 6767._


	2. Chapter 2

“Samar,” she said shakily, “can you pass me my handbag?”

“Sure Liz.”

Invisible fingers pressed at her throat, preventing the tears from falling but making her almost dizzy enough to pass out. She had thought she couldn't be more panicked than when she'd discovered the empty crib.

She was wrong.

She walked into the bathroom, unobtrusively closing the door and pulling the toilet seat down. Seating herself shakily on the lip, perched on the very edge, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, to take deep, calming breaths. They didn't help though. Her heart was still in her mouth as she reached inside her bag, pulled out her cell and dialed the number.

“Did you do as you were instructed?” Asked a cold male voice with no preamble.

“Yes,” she said, choking on the word. “I haven't told anyone. Where is my baby?”

“Listen to me carefully Elizabeth, your activities with Raymond Reddington...your little mission to destroy an organization that existed before you were even _born_ , that holds the pieces of the world as we know it together _with a thread_ \--that ends now. Do you understand?”

She nodded vigorously, as though he could see her, anxious for him to understand she'd do it, she'd do _anything_ for her baby. “Yes, I understand. It stops now. I promise you, I can quit my job-”

“That won't be necessary,” he interjected silkily. “We have plans for you. We require much more from you before you'll see your baby again.”

“Please,” she said desperately, tears standing in her eyes. “I'll do anything you want, just give me my baby back.”

“You'll receive a photograph of the child every time you do something that we ask of you. If it's something of significant risk, you may receive a short video, but nothing is guaranteed. Are we clear, Elizabeth?”

“How will you fe-”

The line went dead.

“Feed her,” she finished disconsolately into the phone.

They'd be able to feed her. They would. After all, little Melody had been going to a new home before she'd changed her mind. They would have bottle fed her anyway. But it _hurt_. It was a claw in the middle of her chest, ravaging at her soul, the thought of her tiny child being fed from a bottle by some uncaring mercenary.

Ten minutes was all it took to gather herself and walk out of that bathroom. She avoided looking directly at Reddington, instead focusing on his tie, the richly colored, neat lines as it fell from the centre of his chest.

“Lizzie?” He said questioningly, holding out a pen and paper to her.

She took them wordlessly, jotting down Tom’s contact details and anything else she could think about his whereabouts. He'd indicated he was going to be in Mexico until the birth of his child. They were probably there now, sunning themselves on a beach, having a pleasant babymoon. It gave her a twinge to think of it. She didn't want anything terrible to happen to Gina’s baby but a small shameful part of her asked why her? Why did this have to happen to _her_ baby?

She looked up to find Samar watching her, a terrible expression of sympathy on her face. It was more than she could bear. She didn't want sympathy. It made her weak. She needed to be strong. For her baby. She couldn't tell Reddington. Not until she knew more about who was involved in the kidnapping.

* * *

 

Jacob had thrown a stone at the corrupt Mexican cop who had brought him in. The man was sporting a lump on his head the size of an egg and the vengeful look on his face as he stood guard at the door of the abandoned warehouse did not bode well for Jacob.

Reddington entered further into the room, picking out a handkerchief from his pocket and disdainfully wiping a spot on a nearby table free of dust. He lifted himself up onto the table, swinging his legs, a vaguely menacing look of cheer on his face.

“Jacob, we've got to stop meeting like this.”

Tied painfully tight to a chair with a significant amount of duct tape was the aforementioned Jacob Phelps. He smirked at Reddington, no visible signs of fear in his face. “You've never had me in this position before. Someone's got an inflated sense of self, I see.”

Reddington’s mouth quirked downwards in annoyance. “Normally I'd take this opportunity to obtain what they call, tit for tat. But time is of the essence, and I need information. So tell me, where is the child?”

He watched the tied down and bloodied man closely for signs of knowledge. He found none. Jacob’s face creased into a small hint of confusion. His eyes narrowed. “Liz had the baby already? And someone's _kidnapped_ it?” He snorted in derision. “Great job you're doing of protecting her. Looks like I'm well out of that little circus.” His eyes lit with mocking brightness. “Hey if you find it, are you planning on playing step-daddy? Is that what this is about? You didn't get a chance to bend her over and make babies with her yourself so you're content to play- _fuck_.”

Like a snake, Reddington had left his perch on the table and surged forward to deliver a stunning blow across the face. “You are impertinent,” he said softly. “You will not speak of Elizabeth, _at all_. If you can give me information, I may let you live to go and play happy families with your little lightskirt. If not, Gina’s going to be a single mother. I can't honestly say she wouldn't be better off,” he added scathingly.

In the end, he gave what little he knew about any credible threat he'd heard about in the months leading up to the birth. It wasn't enough, it wasn't anything Reddington himself hadn't already known.

He brought Brimley in anyway. Just to make sure.

Just to make sure--and because it felt good.

* * *

 

Two days after the birth, Liz was discharged from hospital. She filled out the paperwork to name her baby. She'd deliberated for a while on the name. She chose Melody Victoria Keen in the end. She wept as she signed her own name on the forms. Would she ever see her baby again?

“We’ll get her back, Lizzie, I swear it,” promised Reddington with vehemence.

But he didn't know. She couldn't tell him. So she waited at home, sitting limply at her kitchen bench with her cell phone lying silent there in front of her.

Checking her phone became her obsession. She refused the calls of nearly everyone, only answering if it was Cooper or Reddington.

Then a knock at her door. Samar.

“Liz, I'm sorry to just drop in like this but...we were worried.”

She smiled stiffly, letting her colleague in the door. “I've updated Cooper on any leads Reddington has had. Didn't he keep you briefed?”

Samar paused, surveying her with a sharp eye. “We’re worried about _you_ , Liz.” She dropped a satchel onto the kitchen bench. “This is a week's worth of meals. Aram spent the whole weekend cooking.” She peered into the satchel, unloading container after container of food. “There's spaghetti bolognaise, tuna casserole, stroganoff, a few different stir fries, and apricot chicken.”

Liz bit her lip, trying not to let the ever present threat of tears overwhelm her. “Thank...thank you. Tell Aram thank you. That's so thoughtful of him.”

Something unfathomable swam through Samar’s eyes. Perhaps it was pity, but Liz felt it was something more. There was a determined set to her jaw.

Samar opened her mouth and hesitated a moment. “Liz, we think...there's a suggestion that the Cabal might be more complex than we first thought. We think there are factions within factions. Do you think it's possible that they have something to do with Melody’s kidnapping?”

Her mouth went dry at those words. The Cabal. Of course. Reddington and the Cabal and Russian spies and never ending grief and fear and loss. She bent her head as the tears fell. It gave her a strange feeling when Samar moved around the kitchen bench and put her arms around her. She had been someone to watch and mistrust once. But they'd comforted each other once before, the day Samar had been shot and they'd both been infected with a deadly virus. It was good of Samar to reach out now.

She didn't realize how much she needed it.

She sobbed into the other woman’s shoulder, heaving painful and gasping tears of anguish. Samar held her tightly, not saying a word, just holding onto her and rocking her slightly. She was only a handful of years older than Liz herself but it felt like being held by a mother and she knew quite suddenly that this was what she had been needing these past few days, what she desperately missed. A mother and a friend to cry with.

“I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Liz,” she murmured, “I can't imagine…”

Her tears didn't last forever. Frequent bouts of loud keening on the floor of her kitchen had taught her that. It didn't go on forever. There were so many other things to do. She was determined to pump her breast milk to keep her supply up. She was going to get her baby back, and she refused to think that it would be much longer. Any day now and she had to have a supply of milk for her baby after all.

She sniffled, wiping her tears with the palm of her hand. “I need to pump, I'm sorry. Did you want to help yourself to coffee?”

It was a little uplifting as she sat there on her couch and closed her eyes, letting Samar’s conversation distract her while she put herself through the excruciating pain of pumping her milk. She'd been so alone. Cooper had visited her the once but Red hadn't been to see her since the day she was discharged. He'd been in Mexico following a lead, or so he'd said.

Her stomach tightened. She hoped the kidnappers wouldn't ask her to try and convince him to call off the search. He'd know something was up straight away. But they hadn't been in contact. Who knew what they would ask of her when they called?

She found out the next day.

The shrill ring of her cell phone startled her, despite it being cradled in her hand as she slumped forward in her bed.

The voice was different this time, another unfamiliar male. “Time to return to work Elizabeth. You have a job.”

“And you'll send me a photo?”

“Of course. Once the job is complete.”

Her eyes were swollen and her throat was sore from crying and sleeplessness but she was ready. Anything they wanted, anything they'd ask of her, she'd do. “Just tell me, what do you want me to to do?”

“Raymond Reddington has been meeting someone on the first Thursday of each month at a different location each time. We've found it impossible to ascertain his business or the method of choosing the next location. You are to follow him this Thursday and when you have learned who he meets with, report back to me. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling herself out of bed wearily. “I'll do it.”

“Very good, Ms Keen. We’re going to get along famously. Just remember, if you're caught, you are to deny any knowledge of us. If Raymond Reddington makes a move against us, we’ll know who to look to.”

She was breathless as the man hung up the phone.

She had to _spy_ on Red. For the life of her baby. She had to fool Red, the most wary and cautious man she knew.

She didn't eat that morning, instead, she spent the next few hours in tears, dry heaving over the toilet bowl.

  
The situation was hopeless.


	3. Chapter 3

The rain beat steadily on the windscreen of her rented car. She had the air conditioning on a frigid temperature despite the cool weather. She couldn’t afford to become drowsy in the warmth of the car and she had so little sleep these days that it was only adrenaline and fear keeping her awake.

Flexing her fingers, she turned the ignition of the car off and turned the collar of her dark grey overcoat up. She’d followed him. It was the easiest thing. He trusted her implicitly and didn't think twice about giving her the location of the hotel he was staying in that night. It had probably been overkill to rent a car but she didn’t want to risk Reddington recognising her car outside of his hotel.

All she’d had to do was pull out from her parking space as she’d observed them getting into their own car. Dembe in the driver’s seat, Reddington in the back. In some ways, to the people he let in, he was heartbreakingly predictable.

Her feet hit the pavement lightly but she winced all the same. They were still swollen and barely fit into her shoes anymore. She pushed down a sudden fear that she may not be able to keep up and sent a silent thanks to the universe that she hadn't had a C section. It was hard enough as it was, trying to maintain the casual pace of a disinterested person and not someone who had recently given birth and would far rather be seated in an armchair with her newborn baby.

She blinked away tears as her thoughts drifted back to Melody. The pain of her loss had taken on the constancy of an unbearable toothache in the centre of her chest; unrelenting and ferocious in intensity. Her thoughts distracted her as she followed a safe distance behind Reddington and Dembe, the two men striding ahead confidently into a nearby building.

Alarmed, she increased her pace to catch up with them. They had walked into a shabby apartment block through a frosted glass door. She tentatively tried the doorknob and to her surprise, it wasn't locked.

She entered into a small foyer. There were rows of letterboxes to her right and stairs curving up to her left. There was a small hall straight ahead and at the end of the hall was a faded green door. It looked like it could have been the entrance to the basement or perhaps something as simple as a caretaker's closet.

Given that she didn't hear the sound of boots tramping up the stairs, the only other possibility was this door. Which probably meant it was more than a closet.

With her heart hammering in her chest she walked the few steps it took to stand in front of the door and put her ear to it, knowing even as she did so that she would hear nothing. It was too solid.

With great care, her face screwed up in concentration, she turned the round handle, a repetitive prayer whirling round and round in her head. _Please don't hear me, please don't hear me._

The door opened soundlessly. Just a crack, just enough to plaster an eye to the opening.

She saw nothing, only darkness. But she heard low voices, specifically one voice, a rich baritone, terribly familiar to her.

He was down there.

Straining her ears to hear, her focus was entirely on the conversation occurring in the basement below her. She didn't hear the silent pad of feet, didn't see the lynx like movement at all until his hand was on her shoulder.

She jumped, emitting a partially choked back shriek and whirled around to see the impassive face of Dembe staring at her. In her surprise, she had let go of the door and it has closed with an audible click.

She swallowed.

“Elizabeth, what are you doing?”

He was so damned _calm_.

She didn't get a chance to respond. Red had heard the click of the door, had probably heard her shriek and Dembe’s voice. He opened the door only moments later. He must have moved like lightening the minute he heard the first noise, to reach them so quickly.

Confusion etched his face. “Lizzie, are you alright?”

“No,” she said shortly, deciding to go on the offensive. “I am most certainly not alright. What a stupid question.”

He tensed at her words but made no reply, signaling Dembe to go downstairs. It appeared that whatever business Red had there was to be concluded with Dembe.

 

* * *

 

“Will you have coffee?” He asked her, his voice heavy with concern.

“Yes.”

A single word. She'd been monosyllabic since he led her out of the building and into his car. They sat now in a diner several blocks away. Her eyes flickered around the room. It was a diner similar to the one they'd taken hostages in so many months ago. The vinyl seat squeaked under her as she shifted nervously. She had a vague idea of what she'd say. She might as well begin.

“I wanted to know what you know. You've barely kept me in the loop. I wanted to be sure you were still looking for Melody.”

“You could have asked me,” he said mildly. “For the record, I am. Everything in my power, every resource I have is going into her safe retrieval, I can _assure_ you of that Lizzie.”

“Who were you meeting with just now? Why the secrecy?”

He hesitated and they were both distracted by the waitress arriving to take their order. He ordered for both of them. A cappuccino for her and a hot cocoa for him. Two marshmallows.

Turning back to her after the waitress had left he took her hand in his. “You only need to know that the person I came to that building today to speak with was not connected to the search for your child.”

“So what was it about then?” She pushed.

His forehead wrinkled. “Tell me, have you been keeping up with anyone on the task force?”

“I've seen Samar, and Cooper calls every other day.” She sighed. “I just can't face them right now. The sympathy is gonna sink me and I _can't_ let it.”

“Lizzie, are you...sure, that no demands have been made?”

She didn't blink as she looked at him evenly. “Very sure.”

“Because if there's anything...I can't help you unless you tell me.”

She shook her head, her heart lurching at his words. They'd hurt her baby if she let Reddington have a whiff of what was going on. She just had to hang in there. Give them more of what they wanted. But she had to think of a plan.

 

* * *

 

 

“Not too bad Elizabeth,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “We didn't think you'd truly get that far if I'm honest with you. The location is certainly valuable. Even if you couldn't pry anything more from him.”

Her lips thinned momentarily. “So you set me up to fail? Am I gonna get a photo of my baby?”

“Yes, a photograph will be sent to your cell shortly. In the meantime, we will require you to do this all again next month. Only this time, you will not follow. You will only confirm his place of residence. Clear?”

“Yes,” she rasped, ignoring hot tendrils of guilt curling their way around her stomach. “Is that all?”

There was a considering silence on the other end of the line. A nasally breath was all she heard for some time. He broke the silence. “If Raymond Reddington acts in any way as though he is aware of us, your child is dead. That is all.”

The line went dead.

A moment later her phone beeped and a grainy photo came through. Her baby, asleep in a small basket, the tiny fingers on one hand pressed against her darling cheek. Her skin was so pale, her button nose so perfect. She looked restful, content.

The rush of emotion from the glimpse of her daughter was so violent that she felt as though she could vomit. She doubled over on the edge of her couch, gasping for breath, in too much pain for tears. It felt as though her heart had been carved from her chest and yet she still breathed, still lived.

“Melody,” she whispered, whimpering like a trapped animal. It was too much, too much. But she had to bear it. She was a mother.

 

* * *

 

 

There was nothing more for several days. She was sinking further and further into despair. Furious with herself, she decided to do something about it.

“Liz-what-what are you doing here?” Ressler stuttered, looking uncomfortable.

She'd walked into the post office, feeling at least a little bit better. She was doing something. She'd come and see where they were on the case. The kidnappers hadn't said anything about going into work. As long as she was discreet...it should be fine.

“I wanted to see if you needed any assistance with the case,” she said, coming around the table to stand next to Aram, who was seated in front of the big screen, his laptop open in front of him.

She traded quick smiles with Aram as she heard Ressler’s response.

“Look...Liz, I get it. You wanna be on this case, you wanna be the first to know. And you will be. But you're too close to this to work on it. You can't come in here and-”

“I beg your pardon?” She spoke loud enough for every agent within ten paces to stop in their tracks, heads swiveling to gawk at the showdown. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

“Keen-”

“ _Don't_ Keen me. When this task force was investigating my husband for murder and _I_ was a suspect as a potential accomplice, Cooper had me out in the field. What do I have to do this time, huh? Does Raymond Reddington need to stomp back in and insist you work with me? My baby is _innocent_ and I am the only qualified profiler you have on this team. I am more than capable of using my experience to help find her and I'll be damned if you're gonna stop me, Ressler. You got that?”

The atmosphere was electric. No one said a word. Aram’s eyes were wide and round, his mouth hanging slightly open, Samar stood frozen on the stairs with other agents around her. And Ressler, he wasn't looking at her at all, his focus was on his feet.

She let the silence build just enough. Then in a calm voice, “Aram, what have you got for me?”

He started, gripping the sides of his laptop as though he expected her to pick it up and hurl it. “Ah, ah, we think, we've tried tracking down Tom Ke- I mean Jacob Phelps, but we've hit a dead end there. He and Gina Zanatakos were last seen in Mexico…”

She shook her head impatiently. “Reddington’s already interrogated him. Dead end. Anything else?”

“Well,” he glanced around as Liz, Ressler and Samar came closer, leaning in. “Cooper’s been working with Justice on the Cabal. There were a lot of high profile names on that fulcrum and they're assembling an inquiry but...it could take time and meanwhile, that gives who knows how many members of the Cabal time to protect themselves and their interests.”

“So you think it's the Cabal? Have you got any proof? There has to be something.”

Aram threw her a swift look. “I'm sorry Liz. Cooper’s already told you that the footage from the hospital was useless? We know it was a woman who took her but she evades most of the cameras, her hair curtains her face a lot of the time and facial recognition brought nothing up.” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

Liz could have punched him. The most considerate friend she had and she wanted to knock a tooth out. It wasn't fair, she knew that, but hormones and fear and helplessness were doing terrible things to her. She deliberately relaxed her shoulders and gave him a pinched smile, banishing the thought of violence.

“Okay, let's go through the list of people named on the fulcrum one more time. We might be able to find a connection.”

Work. It was what she needed to distract her from this nightmare.


End file.
